


The Burdens we Bear

by Khanae



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Guilt, Introspection, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 08:44:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12032292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khanae/pseuds/Khanae
Summary: Adventurer, Hero, Weapon... Human. In the blackest night, you are not alone. And have never been...Continuation of the DRK lvl 70 quest: Our Compromise. Contains heavy spoilers from it.





	The Burdens we Bear

****The Abyss swirls. Amidst the chilling winds, the falling snow of the endless Coerthan winter, warmth envelops you, and you feel at peace.

 You feel home.

 And home you will stay, if only for the night. Count Edmond’s words echo in your mind still, you are awaited in other places, you know it to be true. Yet...

 You have witnessed your remorse, your sadness, all weakness you have tried so hard to bury deep down inside take shape, demanding your life as retribution for the sins carved upon the stone that you bear. For all the blood you have spilled, for all those lives you have ruined, for those loved ones you have failed to protect.

  _Weapon of Light._ A one-person army to slay gods and men alike, to end all conflict, you are human. Too human. You are flesh and blood, you are the sum of successes, of your defeats, of your doubts... your feelings. The bitter reminder was all too fresh in your mind, and perhaps, just perhaps, voicing those cries of despair, of guilt, of loneliness, putting them into words, sharing them would lighten the burdens you bear.

 Thus you make way to a certain mansion, one not quite as imposing as the four high houses’, but nonetheless belonging to a noble family, and a man you have come to call friend. You are no believer. You have borne witness to countless horrors inflicted in Her name. Are walking the path to right their wrongs. Yet you cannot help but offer a brief prayer to Halone for good fortune, in hopes that, on this night, the Lord Speaker won’t be bound to the countless duties entrusted to him.

 The old manservant bids welcomes, and a familiar voice follows, inquiring about the identity of his impromptu visitor.

 “‘Tis good to see you, my friend. What owes me the pleasure of your visit?” Aymeric smiles, through the weariness and exhaustion obvious on his features, he smiles and you feel a pang of guilt upon disturbing what might be a short moment of respite for him.

 “Are you certain you’re not busy, my Lord?” You cannot deny to seeking the attention, but aren’t so selfish as to demand it. You know too well of people so desperately attempting to grab yours for you to carry out tasks in their name, from collecting a number of flowers (or dung) in areas more or less filled with bloodthirsty beasts to killing your fourth God this week alone.

 “Pray enter, my friend. It would be my honour to see you join me for dinner.” Your presence alone has brightened his day. Or so he looks at you, or so he smiles at you. Behind closed doors, a politician of stoic demeanour is but a man, full of warmth, full of genuineness, a starry-eyed, idealistic fool (and Twelve knows how much you love him for it) with dreams he had made reality for this country that had seen him grow.

 Words feel meaningless, they too often do, thus you simply nod, and come in, guided by your host. You are offered wine, a kind gesture you want so badly to refuse. How many times had drinks offered by others been the bearer of bad fortune? Too many to count, so many they now leave a taste of poison on your palate, a taste of treason, a taste of defeat, a taste of death...

 “Is something the matter?” A voice pulls you out of your trance, drawing your eyes back to Aymeric, away from the manservant handling the bottles. You had been staring, glaring even, too afraid of putting a ounce of trust in a man your host could undoubtedly vouch for.

  _He hadn’t noticed last time._ So were your thoughts, born from your recollections of the first dinner you spent with the man. Perhaps had he caught it then, but dared not openly question the odd quirk.

 “Nothing. My apologies.” You shake your head, taking long deep breathes to calm your beating heart. A handful of seconds later, the glasses stood before you again, and you hoped, Twelve you hoped, nothing had been done to it as Aymeric brought his own to his lips. At this very moment, all you’ve ever wanted, all you’ve ever needed, was a quiet night far from the conflicts giving purpose to your existence. Your host needing it just as much, if not more judging by his pale complexion.

 A sip of the drink and…

 He looked content, as if it had relieved him of a few amongst the countless burdens coming with leadership, as if he had hung his mantle of Lord Commander and Lord Speaker at the door, now able to act freely, to speak freely, to be his own self.

 Perhaps, you could also consider partaking in the drink standing in front of you.

_Or perhaps not…_

 “Tell me, my Lord.” You graze the glass with the tip of your fingers, gazing absentmindedly at the crimson liquid. You are rarely one to speak first, you do not share the workings of your mind. For once, however, you do not want him to demand tales of your countless travels. Not now, at the very least.

 “How do you deal with the guilt?” It sounds blunt, too much so. You almost regret the words as they leave your lips. In his exhaustion, the reminder of your demons, of his own, are hardly a topic suited for discussion. You know it to be true. Yet, a bitter, but nonetheless understanding smile, is his response, thus you press on.

“How do you deal with the knowledge that countless of lives have been lost, or ruined because of your actions? Even the most noble ones?” Words do not come easy. With each and every one of them is a burden you let out, an open acknowledgement of how heavy they weigh on your mind. It is shameful, it is devastatingly human, it is all you have never wanted to show this world hailing you as their hero.

 “My hands are stained with the blood of countless, that I cannot deny. Many lives have been lost ending the Dragonsong War. Many more are struggling still to adapt to what has become of Ishgard. A thousand years of lies cannot vanish in an instant. For a millennia, we have fought on, we have died for a pointless war born of the sins of our forefathers. Our children deserve better than a death sentence. Our nation cannot gift them a future unless we rebuild from stronger foundations. I will gladly accept all blame for the sacrifices we have to make along the way if it is my duty.”

 Unwavering conviction moves his words. More than ever do you believe it to be the root of his oratorical talents, how even you would been swayed, had you not been of the same mind already.

 “For those we have lost. For those we can yet save.” For an instant, you close your eyes and the words echo in your mind, a statement befitting your conversation, and a reminder to yourself.

 “Aye. Unlike my father, I have faith in my countrymen. There is no denying it is only the beginning of our struggles. It is the beginning of a new Era. There is much and more we have yet to build, much that our children will have to carry on for the sake of our nation, and for the generations to come. Yet, our foundations are more stalwart than they have ever been.” There was not a hint of regret in his voice, only tremendous pride at how far his ideals had lead him, with your help, thanks to all those who had striven for peace, those who had fought on for a cause they deemed just, those who had laid down their lives, and those still walking among us.

 Oh how you wish his speech had offered you a measure of peace.

_It didn’t._

 Thus you simply nod, pondering means of prying less political, more personal answers out of Aymeric.

 “Ah, pray forgive me my friend. I trust your query was of a different nature.” You cannot blame him for it. You too have failed on countless occasions to express emotions, even in the blackest night, and struggle still to do so. You must, you know full well that you must. Recent events have taught you as much.

 “It indeed was. I have come to realise many things as of late.” You do not speak of the events that had triggered the self-reflection, the thoughts themselves are already embarrassing enough to admit. “This War has taken a lot away from me.” The Dragonsong War you imply. Striving toward Ala Mhigo and Doma’s liberation had not nearly been as personal of an experience.

  _Or had it?_

 "Two loved ones.” The discussion will only allow you mention of one. For the time being. “A dreamer who yearned for peace. A woman who would see no rest ere the bridge between man and dragon was bridged.”

 “Lady Iceheart.” He states, you nod.

 “She saved us. None of us would have come back alive from Azys Lla if it hadn’t been for her sacrifice. How I wish she was still there to see all we have accomplished.” In your voice is gratitude, admiration, bitterness, and the weight of a great loss for you, and the companions that had once journeyed to Zenith alongside you both. “Would it that we could do more for the dead than merely offer flowers in remembrance.”

 “I daresay you have done much and more, my friend. You have put an end to a millennia of conflict between our people and dragonkind. You have accomplished what she desired more than anything. To think that we once saw her, and her heretics, as enemies. How blinded were we by our own lies.” Your lips part, then close for you cannot contest the statement. You merely offer a weak smile in gratitude for all the credit he gives you. Indeed, her death, however tragic, had not been in vain. This you cannot deny.

 “Maybe flowers will be enough after all. The bouquet Estinien had placed must have wilted by now.” The picture remains vivid in your mind, Nymeia Lilies placed in Azys Lla, on the airship landing, closest to where ice scattered like dust in the wind. They had been from neither you, nor Alphinaud, leaving but a single remaining possibility.

 “Estinien?” Oh right, the magic word. “Have you met him during your travels?”

 You shake your head. “No, I haven’t.” A lie for you have stumbled upon him in far away lands, had fought by his side before seeing vanish… once more. “I know he’s been helping us from afar. He was the one who put the canon out of commission for us in Castrum Abania and I know he went to Azys Lla after leaving Ishgard. He’s elusive but he’s there, somewhere in the world.”

 “I confess, I wish nothing more than his return to Ishgard. A pointless hope, I am full aware. I know not what he is seeking, only that I am full glad he lived. You and master Alphinaud have my deepest thanks.”

 You are aware of the purpose he has now taken as his own, quite the irony looking back on the man he used to be. You want to believe a trip to hell and back had changed him, but you aren’t naive to trust it is only so. Fire and ice had once clashed, seeking to destroy all they refused to comprehend. Then came a desire for peace, a wish to be the last victims of a conflict that had taken much, too much from them, a common goal, understanding, a kinship none of them (Estinien most of all) would dare openly admit. You know not of the tightness of the bond they shared, how deep did his own feelings ran, how much of her loss he still feels to this day. You but remember a single sentence:

_Fare you well, my lady._

 They were the words of a heartbroken man on the brink of insanity who would have all too gladly followed her down the abyss so long as he dragged Nidhogg along with him. It had not been so, and you cannot take credit for the feat.

 “It’s all thanks to Alphinaud. Had it not been for his stubbornness, I don’t think I could have saved him.” It shames you for you had thought him beyond help, lost to the wyrm’s influence, with death as his only way out. “Yet, I could not raise my sword against him. Only you, my Lord, have had the courage to aim an arrow at his heart.” Out of duty, Aymeric would have murdered a dear, dear friend, and you admire him for it.

 “There was no other choice. Nidhogg was the enemy, he needed be slain. That he inhabited the body of my ill-fated friend mattered not. It was my duty. Aye, I feel guilt still, even after he has forgiven me. I have never wished for his death. Never...” His voice was but a whisper then, thus you spoke.

 “It needed be done and you have done it.”

 “Aye. There is much and more we have done together. He was my first friend. He has given me most of my first experiences in life. He said a man like him wasn’t needed in Ishgard anymore. ‘Tis true that Ishgard needs him as Azure Dragoon no longer but I need him.” You feel guilt in your lie. Oh how you wish you could let him know how boundless Estinien’s trust in him was. How he believes, from the bottom of his heart, their nation to be in such good hands that he could leave it, peace in his mind.

 Yet a small detail caught your interest.

 “Most of your firsts?” Your smile grows wider and wider, your tone betraying less than innocent implications.

 “Aye. I have been on my first mission with him, have slain my first dragon with him. I have done many things for the first time with him. There is much he has taught me throughout the years I have known him.” Aymeric betrays no hint of understanding, nor does he outright deny your silent claims and you find this very...

 “Interesting.” In spite of the large grin on your face, you intend on prying no more, merely storing the juicy piece of knowledge safe in a corner of your brain.

 “My Lord.” The manservant comes in sight, carrying trays of food toward the table. All simple dishes, in no way frugal but far from the luxury high houses indulged in. His reputation preceded him and you had glimpsed parts of it last you had been there. Not to that extent, however. Likely because he had planned your past dinner, unlike this one. You are not one to complain. It almost reminds you of evenings in Camp Dragonhead, of the food and drinks served to the soldiers answering to the late Lord Haurchefant.

“Alas, we were not expecting visitors tonight. I pray dinner is to your tastes.” The apology rings hollow, as a superficial display of respect, for he, of all people, should be aware: you are a soldier before a hero.

 You would have been content with just a mug of hot chocolate.

 “It’s perfect.” You shake your head, shaking off all doubts lingering in him with a smile. The manservant is standing behind him, pouring more wine in his empty glass. Only know do you realise: it is not Aymeric’s second refill, it is the third. Engrossed in the discussion, you had failed to notice how fast he had been to shrug down alcohol tonight.

 “Had a bad day?” His eyes widen for a brief moment, taken aback by the sudden query. Because you had noticed? Because you made mention of it? You do not know. You have always seen him push back his limits, to be up and working following his imprisonment in the Vault, after even an assassination attempt that could have succeeded, had he not been in company this night. Still, it does not ease your worries. Lucia may overtake many duties to lighten his load, may take care of him as much as she is able to, he is only human.

 Just as you are.

 You have witnessed your limits with your own eyes, and would hate for another to endure a similar fate.

“‘Tis nothing. The past week has merely been busy.” It could be a lie. It could also be the truth, thus you do not question it. You merely nod in understanding.

“You look like you’re in dire need of rest, my Lord.” You will leave or stay as he desires, depending on whether he is in greater need of solitude, or companionship.

 “I would not miss a chance to spend time with you for the world, my friend. There is much and more I owe you. Much I could never pay you back.” Companionship it will be then, and you are silently glad for it. You too, have wanted nothing more than spend rare moments of respite with this man, a charming, stubborn fool who has earned your utmost respect, and more.

 “That sounds like one more demand. I’ll have to put it on my tab.” A mischievous smile graces your lips. “I jest.” _Or are you?_ You wouldn’t ask for compensation of course, you would merely… accept some depending on their nature. “It would be my pleasure.”

 He smiles once more and you see the way he looks at you. With all the fondness a man’s heart can hold, with a warmth only equally blue eyes had offered you before.

 Briefly, you close your eyes and all you see is blood. All you see is a broken shield. All you hear is a familiar voice.

  _Woe betides the man who stands with the Weapon of Light, for death will be his reward. Death for him and his kin and all that he holds dear."_

 Guilt has not left you, it has…

  _“Listen to my voice. Listen to our heatbat... Listen…”_

 The Abyss swirls around you, filling you with warmth.

 " _I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you…”_

 It is time you forgave yourself.

 It is time you moved on.

 Remember the dead but fight for the living.

 " _For those we have lost. For those we can yet save.”_

 Wielding a sword, you have vowed to serve justice. Wielding a shield, you have sworn to protect all those you hold dear. Aymeric is no exception.

 “Is everything alright, my friend?” His voice brings you back to reality, to the Borel manor, to the dinner, to your near empty plate, and the drink in front of you. It is now your turn to empty the contents of your glass. You care not for poison any longer (you had known deep down inside that it did not contain any) nor ill omens that may come from this. (You will carve your way through them, just as you always do.) Merely seeking immediate satisfaction. Or perhaps allowing yourself to indulge in it. For once.

 Blue eyes are upon you, gazing at you with all the concern your host seem reluctant to voice. “My apologies. It has been a long day.” Yet you cannot bring yourself to mention the event that had led to your coming. Not yet…

 “If there is anything I can do for you, you need only ask.” Silence settles between you. You consider it, as you finish the contents of your plate, you ponder your choices. You, indeed, have some wishes of your own, favours you are certain he would not refuse you, however selfish they may have been. A single glance at him tells you as much.

 You are scared, no, _terrified_ to loose it all again. You see blue eyes belonging to a man long gone, a man you have failed to protect. You…

 Want to move on.

 Branded a traitor, you had found home in the hostile climate of Coerthas.

 In the blackest night, you had found warmth in the arms of a most faithful friend.

 But the Dragonsong War is over, and all remains of that time were burnt to the ground. Torched by the hands of the Archbishop and Nidhogg both. Leaving a new Ishgard to rebuild itself, on stronger foundations.

 Haurchefant watches proudly over you. You know he does.

 “Perhaps there is.”

 


End file.
